


Dorian Gray (modern ficlets)

by Tiefling_Writes



Series: Dorian Gray ficlets [1]
Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Henry is not as big of a jerk but he's still a jerk, I'm bad at tagging im sorry, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, does the painting exist? Who knows?, no one asked for this, the gang are instagram influencers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiefling_Writes/pseuds/Tiefling_Writes
Summary: A collection of Modern Dorian Gray ficlets in no particular order.This is an au that is not fully fleshed out yet and if I find the motivation/time to do it then I might actually make a thing explaining it all.
Relationships: Dorian Gray/Basil Hallward, Dorian Gray/Several Unnamed Characters, Dorian Gray/Sybil Vane (alluded to), Henry Wotton/Victoria Wotton
Series: Dorian Gray ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838365
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Why didn't you stop me earlier!?

The scene was expertly crafted, with pink rose petals sparsely scattered across the bed and a tall pink candle burning away on the nightstand. And, of course, Dorian Gray in the middle of it all, in a vaguely Victorian-style cream-coloured shirt, the flowing sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was not lounging in what looked like some bizarre pastel pink ritual for no reason, though. In one hand he held his phone high above his head, twisting it at odd angles. This was one of his photoshoots and with valentine's day a week away, the colour theme he'd chosen was pink. 

Really, Dorian was neutral towards the holiday, if not slightly in favour of it. He did love the copious amount of chocolates and chocolate roses in stores, even if the other decorations were incredibly garish. However, his slight favour of the holiday was quickly fading as he continued having trouble with this particular shot. No matter how he twisted and arranged himself or his props, no picture came out quite right. 

“Stupid camera..” grumbled Dorian, lightly tossing the phone towards the other end of his bed so that it landed on a pillow instead of the ground. He stared at the face-down device for a few moments before going to pick it back up again. He did not resume his attempts to finish the photoshoot and instead flopped down, beginning to scroll through his Instagram feed as he mumbled to himself. “Really testing my patience, this holiday. Chocolate can only take away so much of its unpleasantness and what’s the use of a day dedicated to love when none of your relationships are built to last anyway–” the youth continued like this for some time, occasionally going off into a tangent before once again meandering back to the subject of flimsy romantic interests that brought tears to his bright blue eyes. 

He had spent at least another half hour delaying his photoshoot when his mindless scrolling was interrupted by a call, a call from Henry. He answered the call, half thankful to be distracted and half curious as to why his friend was calling out of nowhere. “Hello, Henry?”

“An interesting live stream you’ve been hosting.” He did not elaborate further, but Dorian could practically hear his friend smirking through the speaker. 

“What? Which one?” 

“This one.” 

Dorian’s eyebrows were furrowed now as he tried to make out what Henry meant. “I can’t see where you’re pointing, you know.”

“Yes I know and I’m not pointing anywhere. Check the top of your phone’s screen.”

“Okay…?” Dorian looked to the top of his screen, unsure of what he was expecting to find. He stared for a good ten seconds, and almost gave up. “I don’t see anything–” And then, his eyes finally caught the thin blinking red banner that indicated a video being recorded. His lips immediately formed an ‘o’ shape as he gaped, before he scrambled to turn it off. 

The last thing five-hundred Instagram viewers heard was “oh shit–” and a stream quickly cutting off. 

The youth buried his face in his hands, ignoring the guffawing Henry on the other end of the phone. “I can’t believe I was recording– Harry! Stop laughing at me! For how long was I streaming?” 

The man’s laughter slowly faded into the occasional chuckle before he answered Dorian. “Oh, the whole time! I’d thought you’d just forgotten to tell me about your next stream and then you were just there scrolling and rambling to yourself. Why, someone definitely screen-recorded some of that, it was beautiful, really–”

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?!” 

Another chuckle and probably a dismissive hand wave– knowing Henry. “You were so deep in thought,  _ so honest,  _ It would have been rude to interrupt that.” 

“It was rude of you _ not _ to interrupt!” Dorian hung up and tried to recall everything he had said in the last hour and found that he could only remember the most embarrassing bits, as one was prone to do when remembering. Had he mentioned– no. No, he wouldn’t have mentioned  _ that _ . He hardly cared to think about it at all and he'd surely be in a worse mood if he had thought about it. 

At least there was a small bit of reassurance that he hadn’t bared his whole soul to the internet. In any case, he was in no mood to do that photo shoot now. 

Sighing, he picked up his phone once more and started typing up an update post. 

_ ✨ Hiii everyone ✨ Due to a few technical difficulties, this week's colour-themed shoot won’t be happening. So sorry :( love you all and thanks for your patience! 🖤 _


	2. Stages of grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All cats are beautiful in their own way. 
> 
> Or Henry learns not to insult an artist's treasured pet.

Henry Wotton thought of himself as a man who respected his colleagues' personal design choices, even if those choices were  _ horrid _ . But as he stared at the curious creature on Basil’s apartment floor, he couldn’t help but cringe. “Basil?” 

“Hm?” Basil didn’t look up from his sketch pad, where he was currently drawing the previously mentioned ugly creature. “What is it?” 

“You’re dedicated to aestheticism, aren’t you?” 

“It’s what drives all my art, so I should hope so. What’s your point?”

“Well, if you’re so dedicated to beautiful things,” he gestured at the hairless cat, “why would you allow  _ that _ in your workspace?” 

A pencil hit the floor as Basil finally bothered to look up from his sketch pad. “Don’t insult Vanny!” 

Henry held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not insulting ‘Vanny’. I’m only pointing out the irony that an aestheticist would be so dedicated to such an ugly creature—“ 

“She is  _ not _ ugly! And don’t talk like that while she’s in the room!” 

“She’s a cat. Besides, her left ear is practically shredded, I doubt she’d hear me even if she could understand English.” 

It was true that Vanny was not the prettiest thing to look at. She had the wrinkly, pale salmon look of a standard Sphinx cat, while also having an unfortunately shredded left ear that had been caused by her former days on the streets. Still, this only endeared the artist more to her, prompting him to name her after Van Gogh. 

“it’s still rude to talk about her like she’s not in the room.”

“Animals don’t care what you say, just the tone you say it in. Here, I’ll prove it—“ Henry got off the sofa, stretching dramatically before he knelt, face level with Vanny. He reached a hand out to pet the top of her head, seemingly taking care to avoid her shredded ear. “Hi Vanny, you’re hideous, aren’t you?“ he cooed in the same tone one would use to tell an animal that it’s adorable. 

He turned slightly towards the artist, a triumphant grin on his face. “See? Cats don’t care. _ ”  _ what followed were the mixed sounds of a screeching cat and a man—painfully—going through all the stages of grief at once. 

Henry somehow ended up on his back, effectively wrestling the cat that continued snapping and clawing at his face in a rage. He held Vanny at arm's length, trying to pry her away from where she continued to scratch at his shirt. Later he would bemoan the loss of his wonderful shirt, but at the moment he was preoccupied with keeping his eyes. 

“ _ Basil!  _ Get this devil  _ off _ me!” 

The artist had been looking on, somewhere between worry and amusement. Though upon seeing that the cat was unrelenting in her pursuits to bite Henry’s beard off, he reluctantly approached, prying Vanny from his friend's hands and holding her in the air until she ceased her murderous tirade of caterwauls and hisses. 

Henry pushed himself off the ground, wincing as he touched the bloody claw marks on his jawline. “Your cat is the devil incarnate.” glowered Henry. 

Basil barely looked at his friend as he placed Vanny back on the ground. “You self-project far too much, my friend. Stay here while I find a bandage for you.” He hurried to the bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit, leaving Vanny and Henry alone together. 

The two glared at each other until Vanny hissed and Henry almost flinched. Vanny, seeming almost pleased by this reaction, turned tail and strolled away to the kitchen and her awaiting food dish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basil seems like the type to own a cat and I wanted to give this au a little more than just "Dorian grey but modern and they all have Instagram". Also, I really want a Sphynx cat when I'm older so I gave Basil one.


	3. Book Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian Gray has a fair share of internet critics. He deals with them in a rather.. unconventional way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to Lils_20 for the help and for reminding me to actually write. She's half the reason I'm able to stay motivated.

With fame comes controversy and criticism, some critics are just a bit more dedicated than others. Oswald Smith was one such critic. Once an obscure fan channel of The Gray Scale, Oswalds Opinions became almost infamous after rebranding as a Gray Scale conspiracy and commentary channel. Although never before had Smith answered his most asked question, concerning The GrayScale, at least, not until now. Now, the critic sat at his desk to record his weekly stream – this time, an uncensored telling of his experiences at Book Club. 

"Hello everyone. As all frequent viewers of my channel know, I occasionally focus on the Internet’s most controversial beauty- “ Oswald paused for a few moments, looking somewhere between flustered and angry, “–beauty guru. And as many of you have suspected, I did attend The Gray Scales anti-fan meetup a year ago. What I saw there contributes to my theory of the darker, dare I say, _satanic_ , side of the internet’s golden boy.” He took a sip of the red bull can at his side and clapped once. “This is gonna be a long one, so grab a snack. Now, let’s get into it.”

With a click, overly dramatic background music filled the room, and Oswald began in a fake gravelly voice. “Almost a year ago, The Gray Scale decided to deal with his many well-deserved critics in an… unconventional way, as he does with all his problems. He invited all of us to a book store—which will remain unnamed—in Soho, before spiriting the group away to a hotel–which will also remain unnamed.” At this, Oswald fidgeted in his chair and took another sip of red bull. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I would like to make the disclaimer that I am not admitting to contributing to any of the events I describe. I attended merely for journalistic purposes.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk and cleared his throat once more. “Once arriving in the hotel’s largest suite, Gray sat on the bed, looking very pleased with himself. He didn’t seem to grasp that he was in a room full of people that resented him.”

~

_Dorian leaned back against the oversized bed’s headboard, grinning indulgently. As he spoke, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m so glad you could all attend. See, I’ve always been of the opinion that at least half of those who make a career out of hating me secretly wish to fuck me into the mattress,” he paused as his eyes scanned the room and briefly made direct contact with Oswalds’, “or receive that treatment from me.” He chuckled and batted his doe-eyes at the group. “So, now’s your chance. Condoms are on top of the dresser, try not to ruin the carpet. And have a bit of fun with each other too, some of you are decently attractive, after all.”_

~

“He talked to us first and made several flirtatious comments. It was uncomfortable–I pity the people who have to put up with him every day.” Oswald stopped as if trying to figure out how much to give away. “It began as half-hearted efforts to understand why we held the opinions we do about him, but he was clearly very bored with the subject. Then, one of his flirtations seemed to get to one of my fellow critics–who will remain unnamed–and they fell victim to Gray’s seduction. That fever of lust spread like a disease to the rest of my fellow critics soon after. I wanted to leave but I knew I had to stay to get the full story–for journalistic purposes.” The background music changed, becoming slowed–more sinister. 

“I observed that, on the small of his back, was a mark not unlike three scratches.” He held up a poorly drawn image to the camera. “We were not allowed to take pictures, but it looked similar to this.” He put the paper down. “For the uninformed, three claw marks are often regarded as satanic symbolism—a mockery of the holy trinity. Anyone who’s watched my videos knows that I believe that Gray has made demonic dealings for his fame and beauty. This mark only proves my theories.” He then held up another photo, a printed out painting that depicted a group of women in ecstasy around a horned figure. Observant viewers may have recognized it as a painting of Dionysus with the Maenads. “And another point; the witches of old would often hold mass orgies in dark devotion to their dark overlord, Satan, as a means of sacrifice." He put the print away and looked rather smug. “Anyone who cannot see the parallels between the anti-fan meetup and old witchcraft traditions is blind.”

“And, no, I did not give in to the gray scales cheap seduction, so you can all stop typing in the comments about that.” He clicked away from the stream chat. 

~

_“Oswald, you’ve been sitting there for an hour now, why don’t you join us?” Asked Dorian, glancing at the critic through half-lidded eyes._

_Oswald responded tersely, looking anywhere but at the bed, “I’m alright, thanks.”_

_His frustrated groan turned drawn out and breathy, “don’t be a bore. You’re not doing anything— I can’t even call you a voyeur,” he complained, with a pointed look at Oswald's still-buckled belt._

_Oswald looked around at his peers, then back to Dorian. Well...when in Rome._

_That night, he left the hotel with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck._

~

“So now you all know what went down at the infamous book club meeting—and no, I will not be attending any others.” He suddenly laughed in surprise, "Sorry, JV, despite your generous donation of fifty dollars, I will still not attend the next meeting.” 

~

Oswald was ready to move on from the topic, but that didn’t stop the chat from talking. 

_“So he slept with GrayScale, right?”_

_“That or he regrets not taking the chance.”_

_“His loss. I hate Gray but who passes up that opportunity? I mean 👀👀👀”_

_“Don’t out Oswald!.”_

_“Who’s outing him? He was blushing during the entire story.”_

**Author's Note:**

> side note- I have ZERO idea how Instagram works! Does that mean I probably shouldn't be writing an influencer AU? Probably!


End file.
